


maybe it's intuition

by lightninginabottle0613



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Light-Hearted, Part-epistolary, dogwalker!gendry, this is an 'arya stark can cook'-friendly fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24594814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightninginabottle0613/pseuds/lightninginabottle0613
Summary: Maybe this still wasn't, like...a thing. For them. Maybe it was still just for her, and they acted this way with everyone. A regular, extra-friendly person. Which, really, would be fine. Nothing wrong with some harmless, one-sided flirting. A little something to spice up her day. No big deal.She had everything under control, and shewasn'tgoing to get carried away, but she went to address the note and realized that the upper hand was so much farther out of her grasp than she'd previously thought.She didn't even know their first name.-(Arya hires someone to walk her dog while she's at work. She wishes that were the end of it.)
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 113
Kudos: 288
Collections: Still Rowing: A Gendrya Centric Fanfic Collection





	maybe it's intuition

**Author's Note:**

> hi! a few things!
> 
> i started writing this in earnest right at the beginning of quarantine, and the world has been through hell (& not quite back yet) since then. the entire process of this story taught me to give myself grace as a fandom participant at this moment in time, because the plot is almost entirely silliness and (hopefully) humor, of which there has been a massive shortage in my life recently! so finishing this one felt like a tiny personal victory, and reading it over made me smile a little, and i just hope it does the same for at least one other person. that’s the only goal here.
> 
> once upon a time i posted a snippet of a fic in which lommy refers to gendry as a ‘tank,’ and it seemed to…shall we say…strike a chord. this is that fic.
> 
> (song from title: i knew i loved you - savage garden. because the opportunity was, truly, right there.)

Arya Stark was a lot of things.

The stuff she was born as, first and foremost. Devoted daughter - devoted to keeping her parents on their toes and being the reason that everyone had an earlier curfew, more accurately. Older sister, younger sister - a really excellent sister, if she did say so herself.

Friend to all (except that annoying blue-haired bloke that worked at the library, he could shove it) and enemy to none.

There were the extra titles she’d picked up along the way, too - nature enthusiast, polyglot, self-proclaimed lie detector. Lover of drunken noodles, winged eyeliner aficionado.

Online MAcc student - that one was new. And small business co-owner - that one was even newer.

One thing that Arya Stark decidedly was _not_ , though, was a quitter - and the day she was forced to hire a dog walker made her feel like a huge one.

She’d had the whole routine down to…well, a routine. Jog with Nymeria when the sun was still rising, along that little creek they both loved. Stop home from the office on her lunch break to let her out, often with enough time for them to kick the ball around for a bit. And walk her leisurely around the block at the day’s end, stopping nearly every twenty paces to field compliments.

Getting to _finally_ bring her beloved dog down from Winterfell to live with her in King’s Landing had been one of the best days of Arya’s adult life, and she’d been quite proud of how additionally responsible it made her feel. Their routine had been solid and abiding-

-and only sustainable when ‘the office’ was her sister’s apartment three streets away, rather than a rented-out space on the opposite side of the city.

She’d tried absolutely everything to make it work. Eating lunch in the car during the half-hour ride home, leaving her with roughly five minutes to let a very energetic husky outside, before having to coop her back up again - that one hadn’t been fair to either of them.

Attempting to work remotely for a brief stint - not the most effective method when she and Sansa were still trying to get their business off the ground.

Even going as far as bringing Nymeria to work _with_ her - that had just been downright distracting.

Talisa - the saint that she was - easily agreed to take over the lunch shift two days out of Arya’s work week, when she could walk over from the hospital. She had initially offered her services for all five, but she worked alternating nights, and not even Arya’s most maddening desperation could allow her sister-in-law to disrupt her sleep schedule just so her dog could have someone to play with.

Which was why she presently found herself glowering at the café bulletin board - the one near the bathrooms, the one people typically looked right past - while she waited for her latte. The flyer had been there since she first started frequenting the place six months ago - tacked up among the rotating advertisements for open mic nights and block parties and book fairs.

‘Keep your dog happy and healthy,’ it read, in bold lettering. Two of the ten contact slips had been torn off - the same number that had been missing six months prior - and the cartoon man on the poster was sporting a smeared Sharpie mustache.

The barista shouted her name among the din before she could continue wondering whether the business was even legitimate - whether it was actually a front for some…deranged, underground dognapping ring, or something.

Plus, she was going to be properly late if she kept standing there.

She resignedly tore off a tab and proceeded to sulk for the rest of the morning.

* * *

A carefully organized mess of folders and notebooks littered the desk where Sansa sat - leaning forward in her chair, clicking through seemingly hundreds of photos of the same tray of cupcakes.

“You still have your D780, right?” she asked, without tearing her eyes from the screen. The only indication that she was speaking to Arya was the fact that they were the only two in the room. “Do you think you could take some pictures of that…couscous thing you’re making? Tonight? I might throw together another Facebook ad campaign, since the last one did decently well.”

If she knew Arya wasn’t listening - that she was, instead, gazing mournfully out the third-story window of their office space - she didn’t seem to care.

“Do you think she’s okay?”

“What?” Sansa muttered. Click. “Who?”

“Nymeria.”

“Do I-“ She huffed and spun her chair. “Will you relax?”

“She’s probably miserable.” Arya threw her head back onto the sofa, abandoning her own work in favor of wallowing. “Life in the hands of a complete stranger.”

“I’m sorry, her _life_?” Sansa scrunched her face - in that old, judgey way she used to when they were kids. “Is this person walking her through a blast furnace?”

Arya expertly ignored her.

“I left them very detailed instructions. They’d better follow them.”

“Oh, Arya.”

She shot up defensively - eyes wide.

“Listen! I’m really anxious about this!” She took a deep, pained breath. “’This must be how Jon felt when he dropped Rosie off at daycare for the first time.”

“You know what? You should call him and tell him that,” Sansa said, turning back toward her computer. “I hear parents love when raising a child is compared to owning a pet.”

“It’s fine. She’s fine, right? I’m being ridiculous.”

Sansa sighed. Her voice came out genuine and kind - in that new, sincere way she’d started to, since they’d become real friends.

“No. You’re not being ridiculous. You’re being sweet. And, I _promise_ ,” Sansa added - blindly reaching to her left for a folder and tossing it behind her, “that if you just help me finalize this menu design, we can talk more about whether your dog is currently being sold for parts.”

Arya caught the stack of papers and shot her sister an eye-roll she couldn’t see.

“You’re gonna feel like a real ass if that’s true.” She flicked open the sleeve, rifled through the first few pages. “And you’re missing a ‘c’ in accoutrements.”

* * *

She walked right past it for several hours after she arrived home later that night.

She was far too busy floating with relief that Nymeria was, in fact, in one piece. And breathing. And _so_ happy to see her. Every return home as a dog owner was like a return from war. Arya sort of wondered how non-dog owners functioned.

She’d been right earlier - the worry had been silly. This was bound to work just fine.

It only dawned on her much later - after several failed attempts to photograph her dinner, because how the _fuck_ was she supposed to photograph _couscous_ with her kitchen’s poor lighting - that she hadn’t bothered to check for a note from…this person. That was part of the whole arrangement.

Arya licked the excess olive oil from her index finger and tried not to get worked up again.

Her laundry list of instructions remained where she’d left it, and, honestly - okay. She was a little embarrassed. This was, really, a very simple job, and she feared then that she’d come off as slightly insulting. Surely, two or three bullet points would have sufficed. Arya winced at the sight of the notebook paper - how many ways could she explain a simple harness?

The wince became a scrunched brow, though, when she saw the scribbled note at the bottom of the page - the bottom of the _same_ page, when there’d been a perfectly good stack of sticky notes right there. They’d clearly used the pen she’d left, so why couldn’t they have just -

_Arya,_

_Nymeria was great this afternoon. The walk was nice. We did avoid a very deep ravine and a few car fires, but we both emerged unscathed. Thank gods. You never can tell what you’re gonna run into in the rich part of town._

_Thank you for the directions. As it turns out, I wouldn’t actually have known what you meant by ‘twice around the block,’ so I was relieved to find such detail in your note. Keep turning right until I make it back to your building. I’ll make sure I remember that for Wednesday._

_Lastly. Small thing, but just wanted to check. I loaded her up with some chocolates before I left. They’re a big hit with all of the other dogs I walk. Regularly, for a living. That’s cool, right?_

_Cheers,_

_-G_

Heat flooded her cheeks - no longer from embarrassment. Was this person serious? She knew it was impossible to discern tone over text - or over written word, rather - but, still. If she didn’t know any better, she would think she detected a hint of attitude.

She frowned some more, frozen in place. Her fear of seeming insulting had instantly vanished. Suddenly, she felt the overwhelming urge to make her notes longer and longer every day. Like one of those chemist receipts with all of the coupons no one ever used.

The _rich_ part of town? Where did they get off?

“What a dick,” was all she said, under her breath. It was quite crazy - feeling such contempt for a person she’d never even met before.

The water on the stovetop boiled over. Arya balled up the paper and tossed it in the bin.

* * *

“What a dick,” Sansa confirmed the next day.

“Right? _Thank_ you.”

“Wait, do we know it’s a guy?”

“Hm,” Arya mused. “No?” She hadn’t actually considered that.

She popped another kettle chip in her mouth.

“Doesn’t matter. They’re still a dick.”

* * *

Briefly - like, split-second briefly - Arya thought that _maybe_ she’d gone too far. But, really, it’d only taken up about a half hour of her time. One podcast episode. Just something to distract her while the casserole in the oven cooked to the crisp that had taken her nearly a week to perfect.

The whirring of her printer - producing a detailed ranking of Nymeria’s favorite patches of grass on which to relieve herself, a story about the time she ate a worm, a series of strongly-worded threats, and a Wikipedia entry on the history of Lhazar (for good measure) - made the crisp that much more satisfying when she finally dug in.

The small slip of paper on her entryway table the next evening, the one that read-

_Arya,_

_Touché._

_-G_

-definitely helped, too.

But the brand-new chew toy being used as a paperweight - two nights later - was what ultimately made her grin in triumph.

* * *

The following week was much of the same.

The upper hand had been firmly established - on Arya’s side, where it rightfully belonged - and eventually, she found that she quite liked the whole system.

It was like having somewhat of a pen pal. One with whom she exchanged very little words, and one that she knew very little about altogether, but one that liked her dog, and that was really one of the only prerequisites for being in her good graces.

It was more likely than not that this person did not feel similarly - since they’d already mentioned having to walk other dogs - but that was no bother to Arya. She could settle for being the source of someone’s quick buck. This was her own little thing.

“Fast turnaround,” Sansa had said to her by the end of that first week. “What changed?”

“Dunno,” she’d answered. “They seem cool, I guess.”

(The note she’d come home to the night before had been standard, but they’d commented on the Free Folk hoodie she’d left draped over one of the kitchen stools.

 _‘Small world,’_ they’d scribbled. _‘I have the same one. Caught the last night of their reunion tour here in KL when I was in uni. You’ve got good taste.’_ )

“You don’t have to be friends with everyone in the world, you know,” her sister had teased.

“Obviously.” She’d rolled her eyes. “Where’s the fun in that, though?”

* * *

It didn’t take much longer for the ‘fun’ to start, honestly.

“Fuck,” she’d muttered, when she’d caught a glimpse of the time on the oven clock one morning. The evening before hadn’t been much of an evening at all. Evening, to Arya, usually meant sleep at some point or another, and that had definitely not happened for her.

Whichever demonic force had possessed her and convinced her to take a summer course - during the height of wedding and block party and ‘miscellaneous outdoor events’ season - clearly didn’t think she’d need it, anyway.

That morning, though, she had exactly four minutes to run a brush through her hair, toss one pathetic banana and a splash of milk into a blender, make sure she didn’t smell _too_ much like the take-out she’d been breathing in all night, _and_ leave in time to meet Sansa and her consultant friend for coffee.

It didn’t leave her much room to feel sorry for herself, she decided with a pout.

The state of her kitchen table was - well, it was lamentable. Arya took pride in keeping a tidy home - was usually a ‘clean as she went’ type of girl - but the stress of the last few weeks had rendered the area a dumping ground for everything she owned, apparently. She’d considered it manageable up until right then - right then when she, of course, had no time to remedy the situation.

She grabbed for what she needed - headphones, chapstick, a few business cards off the top of a knocked-over pile - as she haphazardly attempted to contain the mess. Did she need her student ID? She didn’t think she had a reason to stop by campus that day. Where were her sungl- on her head. Right.

Arya was mentally one foot out the door, thanking the gods for her long commute so she could do some deep-breathing exercises, when she miraculously found the presence of mind to jot a sloppy _‘Sorry! I don’t usually live like this. Don’t judge me.’_ on a sticky note and slap it up next to Nymeria’s leash hook.

* * *

“Fuck,” she muttered again when she approached her front door later that night.

She’d nearly forgotten about the disaster she’d left behind, and she was bone-tired. And starving. She could get take-out again - then she could avoid the inevitable _bigger_ disaster that would happen if she cooked. But, no, that asparagus was about to spoil, and she really did need to get her things in order regardless, because it really was-

-not actually that big of a disaster.

She deposited her keys on the entryway table and stepped into the apartment - brow scrunched.

There was still, unmistakably, shit everywhere. But upon closer inspection, it was much less of an eyesore than Arya remembered from hours before.

Her collection of textbooks had been stacked into a pile, right next to a similarly neat tower of business cards. There was a mysterious lack of crumbs by her favorite all-nighter chair. Nothing was missing - she would have noticed instantly - but it was somehow organized in the exact way that she would have done herself, if she’d only had more time.

She was definitely supposed to feel…something. Offended? Violated, that someone - a stranger, no less - had clearly touched her stuff? This whole operation couldn’t possibly have _that_ many rules, but surely that must have been one of the few restrictions.

The only thing she felt was a bit abashed, though, when she finally saw the note - right next to her ID card.

So, this person had seen the utter wreckage that had been her kitchen table, _and_ they’d seen perhaps the worst photo of her in existence.

She knew she should’ve taken it with her.

_Arya,_

_You weren’t kidding, she does love the shrub on Looms. Nearly yanked my arm out of its socket. Think the disappointment over the fact that I’m not you is slowly going away, so we’re making progress. Be back on Friday._

_-G_

_P.S. I’d never judge someone I’ve never met. There is absolutely nothing in our brief history to suggest that I would ever stoop that low. Might only judge slightly for the fact that you seem like a bit of a maths nerd. _

_Like the braid, though._

Yeah, she was definitely supposed to feel some sort of way over all of this - but she was, admittedly, a little lost here.

Once her face returned to a normal temperature. Maybe then she could work on figuring it out.

* * *

She did not, in fact, figure it out.

What she _did_ do was spend far too much time drafting a thank you note. One that was the perfect combination of simple and casually flirty - a tough thing to accomplish, as it turned out, when she still had no idea what this person looked like.

No, scratch that. That sounded wrong.

It wasn’t like looks were that important to Arya. She had enough trouble worrying about her own to feel like she had any right to be picky in that department, when it came to a partner. And she certainly didn’t care if this was a guy or a girl.

(She was leaning toward the former, since the penmanship was like if Robb’s and Jon’s had a really heavy-handed - but sort of endearing - baby.)

Honestly, so long as it wasn’t the blue-haired bloke from the library, they’d be golden.

Something about them knowing what _she_ looked like, though - it gave them the upper hand back. Arya hated losing the upper hand. _Was_ there an upper hand? Or was she just a loser? One that hadn’t been on a date in months and slid off her chair upon reading that a faceless stranger ‘liked her braid.’

She wasn’t gonna open that door.

Maybe this still wasn’t, like…a thing. For them. Maybe it was still just for her, and they acted this way with everyone. A regular, extra-friendly person. Which, really, would be fine. Nothing wrong with some harmless, one-sided flirting. A little something to spice up her day. No big deal.

She had everything under control, and she _wasn’t_ going to get carried away, but she went to address the note and realized that the upper hand was so much farther out of her grasp than she’d previously thought.

She didn’t even know their first name.

* * *

“Arya Stark, you sneaky bitch.”

Her head shot up to meet the challenging stare of her neighbor - just returning home from the gym, damp towel flung over his bare shoulder.

She must have looked as taken aback as she felt, because he pressed on with an arched brow.

“When were you gonna tell me you were seeing someone?”

“Uh.” She stammered a bit, adjusting the strap on her purse and closing her front door behind her. “I guess when I actually start seeing someone.”

Lommy finally matched her confusion with a frown of his own.

“You’re not?”

“Nope,” she said with a pop. “Single as ever. Bless you for the reminder, though.”

“Then who was the fucking _tank_ I saw walking Nymeria yesterday? Where did he come from?”

Arya’s cheeks flushed, her suspicions confirmed - ‘G’ was a ‘he,’ then.

An attractive one. Perfect.

“Oh,” she said, “I’ve never met them. Him.” She cleared her throat and moved to rummage for her keys. “He’s just my dog walker.”

He let out a long whistle - _gods,_ she needed coffee - as she turned to lock her apartment.

“Well. He can _walk my dog_ any day.”

She shook her head in amusement and tested the knob - once, twice - before facing him again.

“Go for it, Greenhands. I’ll leave him your number tomorrow morning,” she joked, stepping around him to head toward the stairwell.

“Hey, if it doesn’t work out between us, you should make a move!” he called dramatically after her - far too loud for the early hour. “I bet Nym would love a stepdad!”

“Have a good day, crazy!” she yelled over her shoulder, as she disappeared around the corner.

She bounded down the stairs - two at a time - and turned Lommy’s words over in her head. Her mind was racing with all of the things she needed to get done at the office that day, and with trying to remember where she’d parked her car, and with what on _earth_ he’d meant by _tank_ , and - she’d _still_ never met this person, so could she actually just chill for a second?

Arya patted her back pocket instinctively when she reached the ground floor - checked for the pencil drawing of her dog that had been propped up by the Keurig when she’d returned home the night before - and thought for the millionth time that week about how utterly pathetic she was.

* * *

Yes. A _pencil drawing_. 

That third week of summer had started with Arya’s carefully crafted note back - one in which she’d tactfully avoided the braid comment and focused, instead, on defending her proud standing as a ‘maths nerd’ - and ended with a pencil drawing.

Of a cartoon Nymeria - wearing a crown and wielding a weapon, more specifically.

 _‘What did you study anyway, that makes you so high and mighty?’_ she’d ventured to ask. She’d been 99% sure he’d mentioned having attended uni at some point. The slight uncertainty made her decide to start holding onto his notes.

Purely for her memory’s sake. Not for any other ridiculous reason.

 _‘Graphic design,’_ he’d answered - below his usual update, as always. _‘Never finished, but been thinking about going back. Just not really a tech person. I prefer to use my hands.’_

(She had yet to secure a solid visual on this guy, but that last line still made her shiver.)

 _‘If you wanna go back, you should,’_ she’d written, two days later. _‘But either way, that’s legit. My flowers always turn out looking like blobs of bacteria. You must be good.’_

(She’d added _‘with your hands’_ to the end of that one but ultimately decided that that would be a bit much - crumpling the paper and tossing it away, willing herself all the while to get a bloody grip.)

 _‘Eh,’_ he’d replied - seemingly in that way that people did when they were uncomfortable with praise. Somehow, Arya could picture this anonymous (apparently giant) man - shrugging and bowing his head and scratching the back of his neck.

_‘Doesn’t matter. I think it’s clear that walking dogs is my true calling. Let’s see some flowers then, go on.’_

He was cute, she’d concluded. Or, at least he sounded cute. Granted, she had Lommy’s very professional opinion on which to base her conclusion, but regardless, he sounded - _cute._ Like, the kind that was more than just an attractive face.

Arya had doodled lopsided bunches of flowers during her breaks between assignments that night. _‘Try not to be discouraged. I can afford you some of my expertise,’_ she’d written in the margin.

She didn’t do this - she didn’t flirt. Ever. She hardly recognized herself, but maybe the veil of slight anonymity gave her a confidence she hadn’t thought possible.

Whatever the case, it certainly gave her enough butterflies in her stomach to nearly miss the way he addressed her below the fated drawing.

_‘Inspired. Forever grateful for the spare talent, m’lady._

_Also - Nymeria’s named after the queen, no? From that old war? That’s what I was going for, but if not, it’s still a dog with a sword. So, still cool, I guess.’_

* * *

“So, he knows what _you_ -“

“Yes.”

“But, you still don’t know what _he_ -“

“Nope.”

“And he’s _seen_ your model sword collection.”

Arya shook her head and pivoted toward her spice rack. “Don’t be weird.”

“You’re given free access to a stranger’s home,” Sansa prompted. “You’re not snooping around a bit?”

“Ah, shit,” Arya mumbled. The handle on her Santoku had finally come too loose to use safely. She discarded it and rummaged through the drawer by the sink.

“You’ve had that set since before you moved here. You need new ones before you lose a finger. I’ve been saying this for years.”

“He hasn’t snooped around here.”

“Sure,” Sansa said - unconvinced. “But, he’s leaving you notes. Every time.”

A paring knife would have to do, Arya resigned with a sigh. She returned to the cutting board.

“He’s supposed to, ace. That’s the system.”

“ _‘All good. No issues. Be back in two days.’_ What more is there to say?”

Arya groaned internally. This was all well and good when it was just her thing. When she spoke about it out loud, it was slightly crazy.

“He’s clearly just a nice guy.”

“I believe ‘dick’ was the first descriptor you used, actually.”

“You remember too much,” Arya mumbled, sliding the chopped herbs from the board to the pot with practiced ease.

“Does this _system_ you speak of require you to write him back?”

“You obviously know that it doesn’t,” she answered - in a bit of an exasperated singsong.

“You’re passing notes,” Sansa said - her voice brimming with triumph. Like she’d solved the world’s most challenging puzzle. “You’re both eleven years old, and you’re passing notes in class.”

The soup was successfully simmering, and Arya was officially out of reasons to have her back toward her sister. She spun slowly on her heel and leaned against the counter.

“It’s...” she trailed off. “Just…” she tried again. Sansa raised her brow. “His job must be exhausting. And lonely,” she said feebly. “It’s probably just his way of maintaining…like…”

The brow strained higher.

“I don’t know,” Arya exhaled, tossing a limp arm in the air. “Human connection.”

“What’s his name?”

Arya blinked. Sansa squealed.

“Brilliant.”

“I don’t know how this happened. It’s honestly-“

“The power of a side braid,” Sansa finished - dramatic and wistful.

Arya turned around to stir. “I’ll spit in your soup,” she said, trying - and failing - to suppress a helpless laugh.

* * *

Two drunk women were arguing over the same (debatably also drunk) man on a beach in Mexico, while a third woman waited in the wings for the perfect opportunity to throw a wrench in everyone’s progress. There was nothing quite like summer reality television.

Her sister had flounced out after three helpings of dinner - already insisting that the recipe would be perfect for the holidays, and somehow convincing Arya to meet her for coffee a whole half hour early than usual the next morning, and practically demanding - with a pointer finger toward her notepad - that she ’take things up a notch.’

Arya chose not to mention that she hardly needed any persuasion on that last front.

She turned the volume down on the catfight, so she could properly concentrate.

_G,_

_Thanks, as always. Catch you again in a few days._

_P.S. Bit bold to call me a maths nerd, when you’re clearly a history one. Pretty niche, but yeah, you got it. She was my hero growing up. I’ll be careful not to show it to Nym - she already thinks she’s the queen of the house, as is. (You are good, by the way)._

_-Arya_

Only on her way out the door the next morning, when she’d run out of time to talk herself out of it, did she throw her remaining caution to the wind and squeeze quickly at the bottom -

_P.P.S. What’s your name?_

* * *

_Arya,_

_Another good walk with the queen of the house. (You mean to tell me she’s not? I walk a lot of dogs, and none of the others seem to have it as good as she does.)_

_Strange question probably, sorry, but - you in need of a new knife set? I see the box of old ones by the bin. If so, my mum gave me some years ago, and they’ve been collecting dust ever since. Not big on cooking, but I guess you are. Wanted to ask first, rather than have you come home to a box of knives from a stranger._

_-G_

* * *

_Grenn,_

_That another rich joke?_

_(I’ll just have to guess then. For what it’s worth, I hope you’re not called Grenn. Friend of my brother’s, first name that came to mind. A bit thick, to be honest.)_

_-Arya_

_P.S. You wouldn’t know this about me, but I’m possibly one of the only people in the world that wouldn’t be alarmed to come home to an unexpected box of knives. Cheers!_

* * *

_Arya,_

_Right, I’ll bring them by next time then. Hope they’re good. Like I said, never been used._

_I’m sorry - didn’t mean it as a jab. I just meant that you take great care of her, and it shows. It’s clear she’s important to you, that’s all._

_(Who’s to say I’ll tell you if you guess right?)_

_-G_

* * *

_Appreciate it, Glendon!_

_I was only kidding - I knew it wasn’t a jab. Thank you for saying that, anyway. She means the world to me. Do you have one?_

_-Arya_

* * *

_Arya,_

_Managed to make it around the block once before the downpour. Was sorry to have cut things short, but we hung out inside for a bit._

_Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t a dog person? This pays some of the bills, and I do enjoy it, but never had the urge to get one of my own. A cat might be more my speed. You’d probably understand better if you knew me._

_-G_

_P.S. Couldn’t help but notice that your wall calendar is still flipped to May, and it’s about to be July. For someone who seems on top of her stuff, this feels out of character._

_P.P.S. Enjoy the knives. Weird sentence to write._

* * *

_Gareth,_

_Not a dog person? Surprised Nym is giving you the time of day. She can usually sniff those people out instantly. Cats are great, though. Feels like a bigger accomplishment when a cat loves you versus a dog, I feel like._

_-Arya_

_P.S. If you must know, I am deeply in love with Obara Sand, and the June spread featured Joss Hood, who should be banned from cinema. Looks like July is Sylva Santagar, though, so I have officially reentered the present._

_P.P.S. Can’t believe these beauties sat untouched for so long. We will be making up for lost time._

* * *

July in King’s Landing was stifling - heat licking at every inch of bare skin, barely any such thing as a breeze. Certainly not the type of weather Arya was built for.

How did people _do_ things in the heat? She often wondered that. Some people genuinely _enjoyed_ being sticky, and damp, and just…hot. Why be hot when you could be cold? But also bundled up, and warm - in, like, the comfortable way. Arya was fair-skinned and very small, and she looked loads better engulfed in an oversized sweater than she did half-melted in a sundress.

Midway through this - her typical summer diatribe - was when she felt her work phone buzz in her purse against her hip.

She wiped her sweaty palm on the front of her skirt and shuffled forward in line - cursing the fact that there were still at least ten people in front of her. At least she had a distraction now.

“This is Arya,” she greeted the unknown number, feeling lighter already. She did love having a work phone. It was fun.

* * *

It was hardly the first time she was eager to get home to her kitchen, but it was the first time in a while that she was simultaneously reluctant to leave the office.

Because Arya and Sansa - amidst the pandemonium that was both of their lives - often forgot to stop and celebrate the fact that they’d done it. They’d done what they’d been unconsciously manifesting since they were kids.

Since before they had any real problems - when they would force the whole family to sit around the table and make exaggerated noises of satisfaction, as they pretended to eat plastic play food.

Even since the height of their disdain for each other - when their short-lived moments of friendship were born out of late nights in the Winterfell kitchens, experimenting and pretending they ran the place.

Of course, none of it had materialized into anything tangible until both of them were much older - until they understood all that it would take, understood boring terms like ‘overhead’ and ‘profit margin.’ And when they did, ultimately, decide to make the move, it hadn’t been a moment of triumph. Like it was something they’d been working toward their whole lives. It had been more of a-

-like a, ‘Right. This is what we’re meant to do next.’ Like their intuitions had been leading them there all along.

So naturally, it was effortless to lose sight of that in between long days and late nights and tarts that hadn’t quite set right. But huddled around Sansa’s laptop - splitting a pizza, and prepping for the interview they’d landed, and laughing at nothing until tears streamed down their faces - their entire journey up to that point was crystal clear.

And they were kids again.

* * *

She was filled to the brim with pizza, but she was almost positive she had the ingredients for some variation of stuffed mushrooms at home, and those were always a hit. She could bring some to the interview the next day, she considered. And plus, they were just good to have around.

Arya could cook almost anything. It was one of her favorite things about herself. The best was when the contents of her refrigerator seemed to contain nothing of value - then, it seemed like a fun little challenge to see what she could come up with. Nine times out of ten, she wound up with a new recipe to add to her overflowing arsenal. (And even that tenth time, she was no slouch.)

Appetizers - snacks, hors d’oeuvres, bites small enough to fit in the palm of your hand - were her specialty, though. Mushrooms, specifically, were polarizing, but she’d once turned Rickon Stark - the pickiest eater alive - into a believer.

It had been one of her culinary career’s proudest moments.

The adrenaline rush of that memory carried her through her front door and straight to Nymeria. They’d get properly caught up on kisses, and then Arya would lead her into the kitchen to curl up at her feet while she worked. Not to beg for scraps - just to keep her company.

(Which, more often than not, was cute enough to result in scraps anyway.)

Arya’s heart fluttered when Nymeria met her halfway between her bed - a plush, grey thing in the corner by the window - and the door. Her tail was wagging, and her eyes were alight, and she was looking up at Arya like she was her whole entire world, which - she basically was.

“Hi, sweet thing,” Arya cooed. She scratched under her chin, behind her ears, between her eyes. “How are you? Did you have a good day? Did you hang out with your friend?”

She continued babbling her usual list of rhetorical questions, even after rising back to her full height and moving to drop her things on the kitchen table. Her heart fluttered again - admittedly - at the sight of the now-expected yellow loose leaf.

And on a day with more clutter, she may have missed it, but she had _actually_ straightened up for once, so her heart fluttered a third time when she glanced up slightly to see a refillable water bottle that…definitely did not belong to her.

The once-cold contents had warmed to room temperature, leaving a ring of condensation on the table beneath it. A single faded sticker - a Blackcrown baseball logo, she registered - was wrapped around the middle. The flipped-up rubber straw was warped by teeth marks.

And she…literally couldn’t stop staring at it. He’d had repeated access to her _entire_ home for weeks, and this was the first shred of evidence she had - beyond the notes - that he was even a real person.

She sat down to read - needing a quick distraction from the insane thought that he’d left it on purpose.

_Arya,_

_Fuck this heat. This might be the first day in six weeks I’ve been grateful for the ice chest you call a living space._

_-G_

_P.S. How are you gonna make a Hearthrobs of Dorne 2020 calendar and only include one of the Dalt brothers? This is blatant Deziel erasure._

She laughed in spite of herself. She laughed, and ran a hand through her hair, and her _skin_ was warm, even though - he’d said it himself - her apartment was freezing. But no, it was true, she was definitely blushing, and she brought her palm to her cheek, just to -

Oh, gods. She was _that_ girl, wasn’t she? She had literally just watched a show about this - about people professing their love for other people they’d never even seen before. And here she sat - smiling fondly at a mess of chicken scratch, scanning her kitchen for anything else he may have accidentally left behind.

What she _needed_ was a glass of wine. One or two of those, and she’d had zero reservations yelling at the fools on her television about how absurdly they were behaving. If she couldn’t get through to them, maybe she could at least get through to her own pitiful self.

* * *

_Gerold,_

_I mean, Google’s free. Looks like he had quite a time in Salt Shore last weekend. You’re welcome in advance._

_Your water bottle’s refilled and in the fridge, btw. Hope you didn’t have to suffer through too many more walks today without it. Plus, now I’ve learned you’re a Bulls fan? Taking Ls left and right._

_P.S. Don’t feel obligated, but I made stuffed mushrooms last night, and there’s a Tupperware in the fridge (bottom shelf), if you wanna try one. I actually almost always have leftovers. Big family, never quite mastered the ‘cooking for one’ concept. Help yourself._

_-Arya_

* * *

“Fucking Father Above, parking in this city is a sodding nightmare.”

“Sansa Alysanne,” Arya gasped in mock horror. She drummed her fingers on the lid of the container in her lap, eyes trained out the window - dutifully helping search for a spot.

“Oy!” Sansa rolled down her window, already leaning outside. “ _Ab_ solutely not!” Someone, evidently, had tried cutting her off. Arya smirked and threw a silent middle finger at the offender, as he sped by - in the interest of solidarity.

“We’ve got plenty of time, my love,” Arya sighed, slumping back into her seat. “It’s only two blocks up.” The movement of a sleek red hatchback caught her eye, and she pointed ahead. “Charge.”

“It’s always better to be early,” Sansa recited, and Arya had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, because -

“We went to the same summer business intensive after secondary school.”

“Ugh, I know. I’m sorry,” Sansa half-whined. She glided into the spot. With just one careful glance over her shoulder, she put the car in park and exhaled. “I’m nervous.”

“Come on.” Arya lifted her hand. Sansa grasped it. “We got this shit. We’re fucking professionals.”

“Arya Lyanna.”

“And,” she continued, unbuckling her seatbelt, “it’s my turn to pay for happy hour. _And_ those pants are awe-inspiring.”

Sansa cracked a smile and shook her head, reaching toward the backseat for her binder.

“All very convincing points.”

The gallery was only one block up now - sandwiched between a nail salon and a vegan café on Steel. Arya had been there before, she realized when they got closer - it used to be a consignment shop. Or some sort of costume store. She couldn’t remember exactly. It had been years.

Sansa’s hands were fuller than hers, so Arya swung open the wooden door and stepped in first - to the smell of fresh paint and the sound of drilling somewhere in the back. The walls were bare, and the space was full of promise, and an old man rose from a small bench to their left.

“Hello,” she said, closing the short distance between them with an outstretched hand. “I’m Arya. I’m looking for-“

“Tobho Mott,” the man said, accepting her palm with a firm shake. “We spoke on the phone.”

* * *

_Arya,_

_I’ve died. I’ve died and gone to stuffed mushroom heaven. Those are amazing. And that green stuff. So finely chopped. The knives and I will be taking one thousandth of the credit._

_You leave the Bulls alone. We made it one whole playoff round in 2008, and we’re still riding that high. Don’t think I didn’t see the Wolves cap on the hook by the door, either. You Northern lot are rabid._

_-G_

* * *

_Gage,_

_That green stuff is called parsley. Please tell me you know what parsley is. There’s some cheesecake in the fridge today, but my sister made that, not me. (Red things on top are called ‘strawberries.’)_

_Sorry, what’s that? It’s hard to think, I’m just wading through our four consecutive series championships._

_-Arya_

* * *

_Arya,_

_What did I say? Rabid._

_Please accept this drawing of Chef Nymeria as a peace offering. Dunno what she’s meant to be chopping. Let’s go with parsley._

_-G_

* * *

_Gariss,_

_You’re learning! (Adorable) peace offering accepted._

_I don’t even have a joke. You’re unfairly talented. This made my day. Thanks :)_

_-Arya_

* * *

“You should leave him your number or something.”

“Oh, my gods,” Arya laughed. She scribbled rapidly in the corner of her notebook.

“Or!” Sansa gasped. “When does he come back? Tomorrow, right? Work from home. Be there when he shows up.”

“That’s mental.”

Sansa grinned - like the cat that ate the canary.

“You’re thinking about it.”

Arya closed her eyes in amusement. “We have that thing tomorrow.”

“You were still thinking about it,” Sansa said, flipping her hair in satisfaction.

“Do you have a red pen over there?” Arya scribbled again. “Mine’s out.”

“Margaery is very invested in this, too, by the way,” Sansa continued, without missing a beat. She produced a new pen from her desk drawer and handed it over with a smirk.

“Oh?” Arya teased. Two could play at that game. “And what does your _little rose_ of Highgarden have to say?” She beamed in victory at her sister’s blush.

“She _says_ ,” Sansa emphasized - her cheeks still bright red, “that you should do something bold.” She shrugged. “Screw it, right? The worst that could happen is he, like…gets freaked out and asks for someone else to take his shifts.”

Arya winced. “That’s a pretty embarrassing ‘worst that could happen.’”

“Everyone secretly loves a little assertiveness.” She considered for a second. “Or, not so secretly. Whatever.”

“Bold, huh?” Arya muttered, eyes narrowed. She uncapped the pen. “So, straight to it, then? ‘Enough with the back-and-forth, we’re going on a date, that’s final’?”

Sansa hooted.

“Worked on Marg, didn’t it?”

* * *

_Arya,_

_That means a lot. And it’s probably right pathetic that praise from a stranger means a lot, but it does. Not that I’m doing it for praise. I don’t really know what I’m trying to say, actually. (Go ahead, there’s a joke there somewhere)._

_You’re nice to me, and you don’t have to be, I guess. And I always look forward to these notes. So, thanks._

_This is officially the longest we’ve gone without sarcasm, and now I’m uncomfortable. Please make fun of me, I’m choking on all the sincerity._

_-G_

* * *

_Gregor,_

_You can’t put me on the spot like that. I need some material to work with. Otherwise it’s not organic. Tee me up. Have any other sad favorite teams? Do anything stupid recently? Is your name actually Gregor?_

_-Arya_

_P.S. I like writing you, too._

_We should meet_ , she wanted to write, but didn’t.

* * *

_Arya,_

_No; it’s likely; and yes, you’ve got it. Head of the PM’s security detail by day, the capital’s most esteemed dog walker on the side. I’m a great time._

_Using this note for its actual purpose for a second, Nymeria seemed a little subdued today. The heat may have just left her knackered, but I walked her over to the pet store on Seeds and got her a treat._

_Sorry if that was overstepping. I just had the extra time._

_-G_

* * *

“ _Finally_ , you’re home!” Lommy exclaimed when Arya swung her door open. He brushed past her, letting himself in. “I have to show you something.”

“How are you always this energetic?” Arya asked, stepping aside. “It’s fully dusk.”

He shoved his phone in her face - slightly aggressively, honestly - in lieu of a response.

“What am I seeing here?” She backed up slightly, took the phone from his hand to examine more closely. Lommy darted behind her to look over her shoulder.

“How are you _not_ seeing-“

“Is that Nymeria?” Arya asked, squinting. “Did you-“ Then it clicked. “Lommy!”

“I know!” he groaned. “I’m so disappointed. I tried to get a face shot, but there was no way he wouldn’t have-“

“You are psychotic,” she gasped.

It was not lost on her that - despite this accurate assertion - she was still staring at the photo.

“Gods, where to zoom in first, right?” he asked, reading her mind. His thumb and index finger flew to the screen. “This man _fucks_ with a leg day.”

She was laughing then, as she relinquished the phone.

“I cannot believe you did that.”

“Look!” Lommy exclaimed, waving the screen in front of her again. As if she hadn’t already seen it. “This could all be yours for the low, low price of one simple question. Aren’t you, like…literally vibing? And that’s just through notes.”

“It still feels crazy,” she said through another laugh.

“Through _correspondence_ ,” he carried on, in an exaggerated accent. “Like some sad, wartime couple.” He locked his phone and set it on the table next to him, fixed her with a stare that slightly terrified her. “Ask him out.”

She sighed. “I should really-“

“Arya,” he interrupted her. “The shoulders. The calves.” He ticked each item off on his fingers, one by one. “ _You’re_ hot as hell. He’s drawing for you. You’re leaving him snacks. For fuck’s sake, I thought you were good at maths. This is basic stuff.”

He left her shell-shocked in her own living room - marching past her yet again, into her kitchen, announcing that he was starving.

* * *

_~~Gylbert,~~ _

_~~This might be totally weird, so feel free to~~ _

_~~Gylbert,~~ _

_~~Speaking of potential oversteps, would you~~ _

_Gylbert,_

_Not overstepping at all. Really grateful you had the extra time. She seemed in great spirits when I got home, so I’ll chalk that up to you._

_You do sound like a great time. What else do you like to do? For fun. When you’re not walking dogs or making art or protecting the lives of KL’s elite._

_-Arya_

* * *

“So, we’ll have the main table set up just over here. Away from most of the action, but not too far removed from the crowd.”

Arya smiled and Sansa nodded - both continuing to follow Tobho through the gallery, eyes roaming the walls that had slowly started to fill up. A tarp still covered part of the floor in the back corner, but things were really coming together.

“Perfect,” Arya said. “The place looks great.”

“Are you still anticipating the same turnout?” Sansa asked. She was using her business voice. It was not a massive departure from her non-business voice, in truth. It made Arya smile some more.

“We expect night two to be more crowded than night one,” Tobho replied. “Just how it’s shaken out with these things in the past.” He looked over at them then - Arya with her stack of materials, Sansa with her clipboarded checklist. “Is that still manageable for the two of you without a staff?”

“Oh,” Arya said with a bit of a laugh, checking to confirm Sansa’s look of similar amusement, “of course. That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Excellent.” His features finally softened - like he’d finally decided to relax - and he very nearly offered a smile himself. He didn’t strike Arya as a man who did that much.

She liked him a lot.

It was two more days until August, and even at the precipice of sunset, the air was semi-molten in King’s Landing. Tobho had the gallery’s back door propped with a paint can, and she sincerely hoped it would remain that way during the opening.

She heard Sansa ask another question, heard them continue the conversation to her left, but Arya looked up - took in the high ceilings and the dangling string lights, as she tried her best not to overheat. She thought of Winterfell, and making it all this way, and the reminder made her feel refreshed. She kept thinking - of snow and, _oh_ , of her comfortable, air-conditioned apartment waiting for her and-

-and of the person who had been there that very afternoon, sitting at her kitchen table, reading her note, existing in her space. Owning shoulders like that.

She felt sweaty again.

“How many artists are displaying their stuff?” she asked. A poor diversion tactic, but she was working with what she had.

“Five locals for the end of summer series this year,” Tobho said proudly. “Some real talent.”

“Neither of us is very artistic,” Sansa said. Arya remembered the flowers and blushed through a laugh of assent. “We’re really looking forward to this.”

“Don’t sell yourselves short. Either of you,” Tobho said - in a tone that sounded an awful lot like their father’s. Winterfell. “Food is one of the best kinds of art there is.”

* * *

_Arya,_

_The great spirits are mutual. This is by far my favorite stop of the day._

_I’m actually boring, I think. For fun I just like being outside, not around a ton of noise._

_You been to the trails at Coppersmith ever? Gorgeous (and shady). There’s a nest of snakes I’m pretty sure, around one of the bends by the waterfall, but I feel like you could probably take them. Between that sword collection and those knives I’ve enabled you with._

_-Gendry_

* * *

“Oh, my gods, he’s a _total_ Gendry,” Lommy said - too loud for the late hour, as always.

“He could just be playing along now,” Arya said. She knew, somehow, that that wasn’t true. “Committing to the bit, with a fake name,” she elaborated anyway.

“Wait, _Gendry_?” Lommy enunciated, ignoring her. “Or _Gendry_?” he asked again, with a soft ‘g.’ “Gendry. _Gendry_.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” she laughed. “I feel like you’re gonna summon him.”

“You know what this means, right? You won. You wore him down.” Lommy reached for her face, grabbed her by the cheeks like a great-aunt on Christmas. “You and your feminine wiles.”

She giggled.

“The esteemed expert on feminine wiles, are we?”

“The esteemed expert on men the size of tree trunks,” he said with a wink.

* * *

It was a strong name, she considered. Solid, sturdy. Definitely a hard ‘g.’

She wondered if it was a family name, what his family was like in the first place. She found it rather difficult to stop wondering about him at all, really.

Arya had, in fact, been to the trails at Coppersmith. It was her favorite spot to run, and she wondered some more about whether she hadn’t seen him there before, not knowing who he was. Whether he’d seen _her_ , knowing _exactly_ who she was.

She didn’t usually pay attention much at all when she ran, but - still. Maybe.

She put on some music, danced around her kitchen, and let herself feel emboldened enough to write him exactly that.

 _I typically like to run alone, but could always use an accountability buddy,_ she wanted to write, and did.

_-Arya_

* * *

The ‘fun’ came to a particularly grinding halt two days later, leaving her involuntarily feeling the top of her head - to check if she hadn’t been splashed with cold water.

_Hey, Arya!_

_The last guy gave me the lay of the land, and I’m so excited to get to know Nymeria! We had a wonderful walk this afternoon - how great is this weather! No problems at all! What a cutie you’ve got!_

_Be back on Wednesday :)_

_-Ned_

* * *

His name _was_ actually Gendry (hard ‘g’ - of course), and he had been a summer temp. She wished she at least knew his last name, so she might have the option to…look him up. Or something. But-

“-sorry, ma’am. We can’t distribute that information. Company policy.”

Arya snapped back into consciousness - like she had briefly left her own body and been taken over by someone else. Someone else who, evidently, thought that calling Gendry’s place of work _wouldn’t_ make her a full-fledged stalker.

Because the fact of the matter was that Gendry had to have known when Gendry’s last day was going to be, so if _Gendry_ had really wanted to do something crazy - like leave his phone number or ask to meet her or make any sort of gesture to confirm that this wasn’t a one-sided delusion - then _Gendry_ would have done exactly that.

And, clearly, he hadn’t.

So.

* * *

“Right, so he _was_ actually a dick all along, then.”

“No, I don’t-“ Arya stopped to shake her head. “No. I don’t even know him. It was all stupid anyway.”

Sansa disappeared behind the wall to their right to grab the last tray.

“Okay, maybe not a _dick_ , but regardless,” came her muted voice. “He strung you along, for what? To pass the time until his next three-month, dead-end job started?”

“Stop,” Arya said. Her voice was stern - sterner than she’d expected it to be. “You don’t have to do that. Don’t be mean.”

“How do you want me to be?” Sansa asked, reentering the room. “I thought it was really sweet. Really. I can’t help it if I’m annoyed at the guy.”

“Well, I’m telling you not to be,” she said. She carried a stack of plates to the end of the long table. “Can you grab the napkins?”

“Arya.”

“And, actually, the utensils should go at the other end.”

“You know you’re allowed to be upset about this.”

Arya huffed.

“Thank you for your permission.”

“And you _know_ I didn’t mean it like that.”

The sisters stared at each other for a few beats, and they looked so physically dissimilar most of the time, but their raised-brow glares were nearly identical. It made Arya crack first.

“Fine. I may have been a little upset,” she offered, through slightly gritted teeth. “At first.” She set the plates down and wiped her palms on the tops of her thighs. “But, seriously, I’d love to forget about it.”

Because when it came to friends, she had an endless supply, but when it came to more - she had walls so high, she could barely see the top.

And if she thought any longer about how he probably thought she was a nerd all along, how he might have taken one look at her photo and snorted, how he might have been casually flirting with every person he worked for that summer, just to make his days bearable-

-well. She was bound to drive herself insane, was what would happen.

Sansa was quicker to a grudge, and she hadn’t always been like that. Years of toxic relationships with toxic people had hardened her, and pressure to live up had scarred her, and it had taken a long time for Arya to learn who her sister was. Longer than she liked to admit, most of the time.

But Sansa had learned her, too, and Arya could pinpoint the exact moment when she saw the insecurity flash behind her eyes - eyes that were always so eager to deflect.

She crossed the space between them - dutifully grabbing the napkins on her way - and dropped a kiss to the top of Arya’s head.

“Consider it forgotten.”

* * *

If the second night was meant to be more crowded than the first, then Arya was already dreading it.

She had always known she was small, but she felt positively microscopic in the sea of people swarming around the floor of the gallery - people in nice suits and fancy dresses and expensive-looking shoes. So many expensive-looking shoes.

The cocktail portion had been a success, and Arya and Sansa had decided to play the rest of the evening by ear in terms of coverage - which was how Arya had found herself bobbing through the crowd carrying a tray of stuffed mushrooms.

“Any more of those skewers, miss?” a woman asked from her left. “Those were divine.”

“There’s a brand-new tray being set at the main table,” Arya answered, as a cluster of men gathered around her tray to sample.

“Do you have a card?” one of them asked. “My son is hosting a fundraiser next month, and I’d love to pass your information along.”

She met his eye with a polite smile - balanced the tray expertly in one hand and dug into her back pocket with the other.

“Tell him he’s free to email after business hours, as well,” she said, presenting the card proudly.

She waited until the group wandered off, realizing then that they’d left the tray with only two more mushrooms. Arya turned on her heel to return to Sansa - so she could replenish and also, potentially, breathe for a second - and all but collided with another very tall, slightly underdressed man.

“Gods, I’m so sorry,” she breathed out, stepping back to scan him for stains. She was relieved to find none.

“You’re fine,” he assured her. His hand had extended to steady her, and - just as quickly as it had landed there- he dropped it from her shoulder. “These still fair game?” he asked, pointing down at the mushrooms.

“Yes! Sure, absolutely,” she said, unnecessarily raising the food closer to his reach.

Her heart was still beating a bit irregularly from the near-catastrophe, so she kept her eyes trained on the tray - not particularly keen on almost dropping it ever again.

She abandoned her efforts, however, when she realized he had grabbed a mushroom and then…hadn’t moved.

“Can I...get you anything else?” she tested. He definitely, she confirmed, was underdressed. In fact - upon closer examination - he looked not at all like the type of person who would be caught dead within a mile of a fancy event like this. She wondered what on earth he was even doing there.

“No, I’m good,” he replied. He had taken a bite, and he was mid-chew, and she couldn’t help but notice the sharp cut of his jaw.

He cleared his throat when his mouth was empty again. Still standing there.

“These are great,” he said, and his - his eyes were dancing a bit. Almost like…he was in on something she wasn’t. Waiting for her to catch on.

“Thank you,” she said, a bit dazed. Dancing and so, so blue. The bluest she’d maybe ever seen.

“Did you make-“

“Hey,” came Sansa’s voice from behind her, followed by a firm hand on her shoulder. “I need your help for a minute. And looks like you need to refill anyway.”

“Right,” she acknowledged, sparing the stranger in front of her an apologetic, closed-mouth smile. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

She was already being whisked away, so she missed the way his features transformed - the way his sharp jaw clenched and his blue eyes dulled.

* * *

Arya practically fell through her front doorway into her apartment later that night - feeling simultaneously grateful and dismayed that they had to do all of that again the next day.

She was prepared to give her dog a few half-hearted moments of affection before popping some melatonin and completely knocking out - but by the time she got near her, Nymeria had clearly decided that ‘half-hearted’ simply would not suffice.

“Oh yes, hi, baby,” she cooed, doing her best to keep up with this unprecedented display of energy.

Arya crouched down completely - skillfully balanced on the balls of her feet, but almost toppled over when Nymeria started nuzzling into her shirt.

“I know,” she laughed. “So many new smells, huh?”

Nymeria simply wagged her tail faster in response - her nails clacking against the hardwood floor while she scampered in place.

“You’ll be dragging this one out of the hamper then, I guess,” she said resignedly, finally rising to her feet and wiping the hair from the front of her shirt. “Come on, time for bed.”

She deposited her things on the kitchen table and noticed another note from Ned - Ned, who used way too many exclamation points, and had handwriting more pristine than her mother’s, and had _not_ yet earned the right to refer to her dog as ‘Nym,’ but was fully doing so anyhow.

Arya rolled her eyes and started down the hallway - already stripping in order to get a head start on the sleep that was calling her name, Nymeria trotting faithfully behind her.

* * *

The expensive-looking shoes had definitely multiplied, but - weirdly enough - the second night actually passed much more smoothly than the first. Maybe this ‘night two’ crowd was more familiar with how to navigate a queue. Or maybe an evening of rest had allowed the sisters to really find their stride.

Either way, Arya was generally less winded, and for that she was thankful.

The more practiced rhythm had given her more time to peruse the gallery for herself, and when it came to art - on top of not being able to produce much beyond her bacteria flowers - she often wasn’t sure what she was looking at.

She loved art - there was never a question about that. But she thought of Bran, who could spend hours upon hours wheeling through the Winterfell Art Museum, extracting every bit of meaning from each painting, taking note of the moral allegories and the specific brush-stroke techniques.

Arya, on the other hand, just marveled at the sheer accomplishment of it all.

She could easily feel self-conscious, if she let herself - being surrounded by such beauty tended to have that effect on her. Tobho’s words of encouragement rang through her head as she walked along the back wall, though, and she found herself sagely wondering whether everyone in the world wasn’t an artist - in some way or another.

The depictions of nature were, predictably, drawing her in the most. She gawked at an acrylic painting of the pine barrens on Crackclaw’s Point, admired a vibrant field of roses that she recognized instantly as Highgarden. She tucked away a reminder to tease Sansa about that again later.

She came to a series of frames, next - all displayed in a cluster - and her transfixion continued.

The mediums varied - some contained bold swirls of charcoal, others had clearly seen the defter touch of a paintbrush - but the scenes were consistent. And Arya was pretty sure she’d lived in those scenes before. A glance at the placard to the right affirmed her guess - this was Coppersmith Park.

With the added layer of having _been_ to the place being illustrated - having frequently spent entire days there - came an added layer of appreciation for what she was looking at. Because this person had nailed it. Every aspect - from the massive willow tree by the fountain, to the lazy ripples in the lake - was perfect. One of her favorite quiet places in such a huge, obnoxious city - all masterfully captured in six shrunken-down squares.

She had the brief idea that she might like to buy a few. People bought the art at gallery openings, right? Or was it just displayed for the exhibits? No, she was fairly certain it was the former. That was the whole point of these things. The expensive shoe wearers definitely had the cash to burn - and, for better or for worse, so did she.

Arya scanned the placard for a name - to have a more concrete place to start - and saw nothing. With a bit of a frown, her attention returned to the art. The crowd behind her was thinning, but still, she ought to have been getting back to relieve Sansa.

One more lean in to study the pieces, as she told herself she’d ask Tobho for the artist’s information later, and - she almost wanted to laugh at the singular initial she saw crammed into one of the bottom corners.

She _wanted_ to laugh, but she wanted to die more.

* * *

“Are you kidding?” Sansa asked, eyes alert. There were even fewer people on the main floor now, and only a half-eaten tray of bruschetta remained. “Okay. I understand you want to forget about it. Got it. Noted.” The eyes were…getting intense. Frantic, even. “But you _have_ to confront him. It’s too good to pass up.”

“Are _you_ kidding?” Arya hissed. “This is humiliating. I can’t believe-“

“Look at you,” Sansa said. “Business bitch. Your skin is glowing. _Please_ , please, please. I love watching grown men crumble.”

“And what am I meant to say? ‘Hi,’” Arya said with an affected pitch. “’We’ve never even breathed the same air before, but the nerve of you to flirt with me for two and a half months and not immediately propose marriage.’”

Sansa shook her head like she was dismissing an actual, real idea. “That’s too many things to say.”

“I-“

“If you don’t confront him, can I?”

“That is immeasurably worse. No.”

Sansa studied her for a second, in that unnerving way she loved, before nodding. “No one’s talking to him, then. Fine. _But_ , one question.”

Arya sighed. “What.”

“Are you not slightly curious to just know what he looks like? Once and for all? Then, chapter closed?”

Her silence was response enough, apparently, as Tobho made an almost _timed_ appearance before them.

“I’ll come find you both again when everyone’s left, so we can settle payment,” he said, “but I just wanted to be the first to tell you what a smashing success this has been. I’ve heard nothing but acclamation over your services.”

The sisters shared a smile - Sansa’s, distressingly, a bit wider than Arya’s.

“That’s great to hear. We’ve so appreciated the opportunity,” she said diplomatically. “If I may, though. I wanted to ask.”

“Sure.”

“My sister and I having been going back and forth on whether to purchase those stunning Coppersmith Park pieces. We’re still unsure, so we don’t want to burden the artist with false hope.” Arya stood unblinking - more astonished than she should have been. “We are curious, though. Could you point them out?”

It was the first real grin either of them had ever seen on Tobho’s face, and it flashed the instant he heard the word ‘Coppersmith.’

“That’ll be Gendry,” he said, turning toward the diminishing crowd. Arya widened her eyes at Sansa behind his back. Sansa looked fit to burst. “He’s hard to miss in a room like this. Couldn’t even convince him to wear a tie.”

 _Couldn’t even_ -

Arya’s head started to spin.

“He’s just there.” Tobho indicated with a subtle gesture toward a group in the far corner. Five or six finely dressed guests, and one very tall, slightly underdressed man - with a sharp jaw and blue eyes.

“ _Excellent_ , thank you so much,” Sansa said, giving a shell-shocked Arya a surreptitious pinch to the side.

“You know, I must say,” Tobho said with a hint of mirth, “I would urge you to invest.” He leaned in - like he wanted to share a secret. “Between you and me, he’s the most talented one here. And,” he added, “it would be quite the poetic repayment.”

“Repayment?” Arya asked, confused - and happy to have a less distracting place to look.

“If you purchase his work, I mean,” he clarified. “Gendry’s the one who gave me your card.”

* * *

Arya Stark was a lot of things. ‘Someone who could leave well enough alone’ was decidedly not one of them.

Tobho had wandered off to entertain some more guests, and Sansa had excused herself to use the restroom - after one last-ditch plea for her sister to give Gendry a piece of her mind.

Arya was, admittedly, feeling a million ways at once, so she was unsure which piece of her mind to offer. She reckoned she’d sort out that bit when she started talking.

She waited until the group around him dispersed - until he seemed inattentive enough to his surroundings for her to catch him properly off-guard - and strode toward his corner with all the poise she could muster.

“Hi,” she said when she reached him. Gendry’s head shot up in surprise.

“Hi.” His bearings seemed scattered. Good. This was going great so far. She decided to cut straight to the chase.

“What were you gonna do if I didn’t figure it out?”

Maybe that had been the wrong move, because suddenly his eyes were dancing again - even brighter than they had been the day before.

“I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Arya’s mouth flew open, and she let out an exhale of disbelief.

“Seriously, was this, like…a game? To you?” She put her hand on her hip and willed herself not to back down. “Just been sitting back and laughing at me the past two nights?”

In the contest of who could show the most emotions in the span of one minute, Gendry was winning by a landslide. Surprise, to smugness, to…something almost like shame.

“No.” His eyes dropped from hers to the floor. “I…Look, I’m not great at this kind of stuff, so I just thought I’d…” He coughed. “I would’ve introduced myself before you left. I just wanted you to _want_ to, and…it’s…I’m sorry.” He looked up again - lips pressed into a thin line. “I clearly went about it all wrong, so I’ll leave you be.”

He was holding an empty champagne flute, and he moved to set it down - moved to do as he said, and leave her be. She interrupted him before he could.

“You gave Tobho my business card.”

He laughed emptily - like he was chastising himself.

“Yeah, look, again, I’m sorry for-“

“Sorry for getting well-paying work for me?” Arya pressed with newfound amusement. “And my sister?”

“No,” he sighed. He set the glass down. “Sorry for using it as a way to meet you, instead of just…asking to meet you.”

She felt her heart rate pick up slightly. The pieces of her mind continued to shuffle around up there, and she needed them to settle.

“And why didn’t you?” she ventured to ask. “Do that,” she added.

Gendry took a breath, and she felt like she already knew what he was about to say.

“Probably for the same reason that you were worried I was laughing at you.”

It was all still insane - she imagined it would never _not_ be insane. The circumstances of this whole thing. But another thing Arya Stark was great at was spotting opportunities for well-deserved second chances - which is why she extended her hand, after a moment of charged silence.

“Arya Stark.”

His shoulders - to which no photo could do any small amount of justice, by the way - relaxed.

“Gendry Waters,” he said, returning the gesture with a hand so warm, she forgot why she had _ever_ hated the heat. She cleared her throat - while she tried to decide which of her endless questions to ask first.

“So…why was it like pulling teeth to learn your name?” was what she landed on.

He didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t like people.”

“That’s…” she trailed off, taken aback by how quickly he’d answered. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Gendry shrugged. “Told you. I’m not great at this kind of stuff. If people don’t know my name, then I don’t have to pretend to like them.”

She couldn’t help it. “That’s pretty fucked up.”

He only shrugged again. _‘This is basic stuff,’_ she heard Lommy say in her head.

“ _I_ know your name,” she prompted.

“I like you,” he countered, not seeming to care that he’d taken the bait. “Very much.”

Arya felt a smirk beginning to sneak its way across her face, but - she _still_ couldn’t help it.

“Most people do.”

If not being able to leave well enough alone would always result in a smile so dazzling, then she’d never back down from anything ever again.

“I, um,” he started - his hand flying to the back of his neck. Just like she’d pictured. “The first time I was over, I saw the family picture. Or…I assumed it was a family picture. The one by the front door?”

She nodded. Maybe a bit too enthusiastically in retrospect, but - truly, anything to keep him talking.

“And I remember thinking…gods, I hope she’s the brunette.”

She shook her head a bit, like she was gathering her thoughts. She, as it turned out, had no thoughts left. Except whether it would be too late to start recording this - for posterity. Or how he could possibly think he was bad at this. Or how a person could be so lovely.

Okay, so, lots of thoughts, then. Just not the kind she’d anticipated having during this conversation. She was at an alarmingly high risk of overheating again.

“You’re…way better at this than you think you are,” she managed. The hilarity of it all hit her once again, and she snorted. “I feel like I should be creeped out.”

Gendry shrugged again - like there was no argument there. “Yeah, well.”

Both of them stood there, still. Fully immersed in the absurdity - she was running out of descriptors to really capture the energy between them. But saying the first thing that came to mind had been working well in her favor thus far, so she decided to take another - _ridiculous_ \- leap forward.

“Are you hungry?” She paled at the amused question on his face. “What am I saying, you’ve been…I was _literally_ here to feed you.” He continued to stare. Maybe she’d spoken too soon. “Um. I was…it’s just that I was gonna stop for take-out or something. Once we’re all wrapped up here. So, I was gonna see if-“

“Yes,” he cut in. His hands moved to his pockets, and he was still staring at her, and she wanted to _swim_ in his eyes. “I could eat.”

* * *

The best part about dating Gendry - and there were a _lot_ of incredible parts - was not having to wonder anymore.

It wasn’t a family name, he didn’t have much biological family to speak of at all, and he was accustomed to being alone. He _was_ strong - solid, sturdy. And he did like her - very, very much.

She’d watched him later on, that pivotal night - sitting in her dining room, fumbling with chopsticks, stroking the top of Nymeria’s head where it rested on the top of his thigh. And - just like his notes had, on her kitchen table - he fit.

His laugh - low and rumbling - fit in with the muffled sounds outside her living room window. His warmth fit in with the home she’d created - even as he’d muttered, ‘ _Fuck_ , I forgot how cold it is in here,’ when she’d opened the door for them.

And his hands fit on either side of her waist when he spun her to face him at the sink - fit cradled against her cheeks when he nearly kissed the breath right out of her.

They were sprawled on the grass - under the shade of the willow tree, in the park, weeks later - while Arya reflected on all of this. Nymeria curled at her side, Gendry enveloping her from behind.

For someone who hated people, he certainly loved to cuddle.

Arya’s thoughts slowly drifted to that place. To how surprisingly gentle he’d been with her, all this time - except when she…explicitly asked him not to be. To how she shouldn’t, actually, be all that surprised by his capacity for gentleness, since she’d seen his artwork. To those instinctive defense mechanisms, before they’d met, that had found her and Sansa making accusations and writing him off.

She was cringing at that last memory when she felt his nose press against the top of her head. She was sure that he’d been asleep.

“Can’t believe we thought you were a fuckboy,” she murmured quietly, almost to herself - feeling her eyelids droop slightly.

His lips pursed against her hair. “What’s a fuckboy?” He sounded sleepy and confused and - so, devastatingly cute.

Arya laughed softly, and it was almost immediate - blessedly so - the way his arms tightened around her in response. She wanted to stay right there until days turned into weeks - until the waning summer heat turned into autumn chill. Then she’d _have_ to stay - for warmth, obviously.

Not for any other ridiculous reason.

“Don’t worry about it,” she told him.

**Author's Note:**

> now that we’re at the end, i can plug the tumblr prompt that this was based on. didn’t wanna spoil for those that had never seen it before!
> 
> “i hired a dog walking company and i’ve never met the person who comes to my apartment but they leave me really cute notes and they give my dog presents and i kind of love them because my dog does and ALSO one of the artists at this gallery opening is hella cute and i want them to paint me like one of their french girls AU”
> 
> thank u for reading, and thank u @god @jesus for gendry waters’ shoulders
> 
> tumblr: [lightninginabottle0613](https://lightninginabottle0613.tumblr.com/) 😇


End file.
